


lintik (na pag-ibig)

by kayselya



Category: El Filibusterismo, Noli Me Tangere & Related Works - José Rizal
Genre: Canon Compliant, Fluff and Humor, M/M, a bit of angst, it's a lover's quarrel you see, or is it canon divergence after all, say hello to juanito's almost-harana, spot the sexual tension if there is one, there's an amount of cussing involved
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-29
Updated: 2017-04-29
Packaged: 2018-10-25 08:42:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10760712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kayselya/pseuds/kayselya
Summary: Juanito Pelaez was there, outside, under Placido's window. Juanito fucking Pelaez, rambunctiously playing his violin, pushing and pulling his bow against the strings mercilessly, without any trace of rhythm or melody. The bastard did not stop, did not take a breath, and just feasted on the misery of the whole street.





	lintik (na pag-ibig)

**Author's Note:**

> this is the consequence of reading el fili twice in a row, and i'd like to tell my high-schooler self that, "agonize over the chapter summaries now. you'll enjoy the novels soon and start shipping the characters and pretending everything will end happily." but i'd also like to imagine that if i had read noli and el fili as a sixteen year-old, i'd still ship these characters nonetheless.
> 
> i want to thank diane for being aboard with me in this, especially for suggesting the song title because heck it's too apt that it's actually funny and because, as i quote placido, "tinamaan ng..."

Placido Penitente was no longer the same young man he was last night. Yesterday's anger and pent-up frustrations seemed to vanish the moment he woke up. He didn't even feel the least bit of agony at waking up itself, because this day meant for him a brand new undertaking with his life. He may have had shook with fear at hearing Simoun's plans; remorse may have had coursed through him at witnessing his mother's woes; but now all of that seemed to be less saturated, and more watered down. True, he still felt uneasy at the planned uprising, but the fact that there would be an uprising that night made him oddly confident to do whatever he wished, without worrying for the future - _his_ future. Yesterday was gone, he conceded, and what only mattered now was today. Placido Penitente was calmer than his usual self. He did not care anymore.

 

As he bid his mother goodbye, waiting for her form to disappear into the Manila crowd, he decided on meeting the Procurator of the Augustinians that afternoon; once the school day would come to a close (he wouldn't risk going to Intramuros and seeing _them_ , seeing _him_ most of all, but more on that later).

 

Yes, he'd have to return to the University. Indeed, he'd have to swallow his damn pride and face those Dominicans again. But no, he wouldn't submit himself to slavery for those priests. He'd stay true to what he said: he had had enough, had suffered for months and months. He only wanted to be free, and so Placido would be freer in his state of mind. He would be less silent, would be much braver and patient, but never (as he always was) penitent.

 

In a calm and good mood, Placido ate his lunch heartily. He still had a few hours to spare before heading to the Procurator, so he took up a book and practiced his Latin. Not knowing what the lessons had been about on the single day he purposely missed, he contented himself with his Latin conjugations and their future tenses. He was deeply buried in this long-forgotten grammar of antiquity, processing _amare_ and muttering _amabor_ , _amaberis_ , _amabitur_ to retain them in his mind, when a deafening screech jolted him from where he sat by his study table.

 

Placido was certain that sound had come from the depths of hell. It did not stop, merely continued screeching like a banshee, like a pig condemned in the slaughterhouse. It squealed and squealed, mimicking that of a chalk roughly dragged across the board to the detriment of the students' eardrums. He covered his ears in vain, the whole street would be numb not to hear the torturous sound.

 

" _Puñales_ , what in the name of San Juan Bautista..." he grumbled, walking out of his room and crossing the small _sala_ of his lodging house. He jerked the capíz windows open, the way he slid them competed with the banshee outside, and what he saw was enough to eclipse the pleasant mood he had felt all morning.

 

The source of the commotion was _him_ \- the bastard, the cheekiest person Placido knew, the son of the devil, the stupid, most stupidly self-entitled Juanito fucking Pelaez with his smug looks and mestizo privileges.

 

Juanito Pelaez was there, outside, under Placido's window. Juanito fucking Pelaez, rambunctiously playing his violin, pushing and pulling his bow against the strings mercilessly, without any trace of rhythm or melody. The bastard did not stop, did not take a breath, and just feasted on the misery of the whole street. Juanito had his devlish grin, his hunch more accentuated as he focused on picking up his pace to an allegro, and how his hair swept here and there - attuned to his passionate playing, but it was more like jesting - made Placido's blood boil.

 

It was true that he'd still see _him_ , nevertheless, but Placido didn't want to see him _now_. Too further the argument, Placido did not care anymore - that bit was as genuine as it could be, but how he hated just one other fact.

 

He still cared for Juanito fucking Pelaez.

 

But he had a unique way in showing he still did.

 

 _"Hijo de puta!"_ Placido shouted, almost throwing himself out the window as he leaned, his hands gripping the frame with a tightness that mirrored his annoyance. How dare did Juanito Pelaez cause a scene; how dare did Juanito barge into Placido's rare moment of tranquility. How dare he, when last night Placido was left embarrassed and fuming as he passed by an oblivious Juanito, as though Juanito did not even know him (or perhaps Juanito just did not realize, but it was still enough to make Placido mad) simply because he was actively conversing with (or showing off to) Paulita Gomez.

 

Juanito Pelaez, a scumbag showered with nothing but the luxuries life had to offer, just effortlessly glanced upwards, and winked at Placido. He stopped playing, mirth blazing in his eyes, and ran a hand over the sweat on his brow. Placido only realized just then that Juanito was accompanied by Pecson and Tadeo. Through the looks of it, the two unfortunate souls who had to bear Juanito's mischief would gladly be someplace worse.

 

 _"Mi amigo Señor Penitente!"_ Juanito shouted back, extending an arm towards Placido in a dramatic display as though orating. With a swift movement he passed his bow and violin to Pecson. His hands free, Juanito bowed like the pretentious gentleman he was. Placido immediately wanted to go down and punch him.

 

" _Puñeta_ , what the hell do you want?" Placido replied, gritting his teeth. There were too many onlookers. Juanito the Boisterous Arse had really outdone himself.

 

Juanito wasn't listening. He straightened up, carried on with his act, and cleared his throat before breaking out into verse.

 

_Where is this Placido, the pain of my buttocks,_  
_Why did our misadventures not last?_  
_What happened to the time when one prompt from him_  
_Meant my pride, my glory, in Millón's Physics class?_

 

That was it. That was the last straw. Placido could tolerate the unforgiving violin-screeching, but never - not ever in his young existence - could he tolerate someone corrupting the verses of Francisco Baltazar. And Juanito fucking Pelaez committed blasphemy. Juanito Pelaez just sentenced himself to death.

 

"Placiding! Come back to class, I beg of thee! My weary heart cannot last a day without my ever-loyal prompter, so please-"

 

Placido did not hear the rest of it. He disappered back into the house, reappearing afterwards with a bucket of water in his hands, which without a second's hesitation he tipped over the window. Juanito was only able to react momentarily, dodging the cascading water with a jump to the side. Tadeo, too, was spared. Pecson, however, seeing much better days, lamented on his unexpected bath.

 

"You're still going to pass that class without me, _stupido_!" Placido bellowed, throwing out the empty bucket as well. The three hapless men downstairs avoided the attack completely this time around. Letting out a groan, Placido was all prepared to slide the windows shut when Juanito's tone changed to that of desperation.

 

"Placidete, wait!"

 

"Stop calling me stupid nicknames, idiot!"

 

"Is stupid the sole word in your vocabulary, Placiding?"

 

_"Maas!"_

 

"Huh?"

 

Placido had to give himself credit at that. He wasn't a Batangueño for nothing.

 

"All right fine!" Juanito threw his arms in surrender. He sighed. "Just listen to me for a second. You _have_ to return to class. My seatmates are more stupid than I am. And as for consolation, here, I still owe you two pesos from that collection yesterday, now don't I?"

 

Juanito rummaged his pockets and took out the two pesos in question. Placido had yet to be convinced. Well, he already was convinced to return to the University (as he did convince himself without Juanito's folly), and to be quite honest he was just relishing Juanito's foolish show of degrading his own Pelaez ego.

 

"And why are you three not in class? I can understand Tadeo, but," Placido commented with a frown, crossing his arms. "I make my own decisions, thank you very much, and there is no need for you to waste your time with miserable and impoverished me. Now off you go, _señores_."

 

Juanito was not one to be deterred, of course.

 

"Ah, ah, but _chico_ , you're forgetting that it's my _dia pichido_."

 

Of course.

 

"And Pecson here would gladly skip his _Odyssey_."

 

Knowing Pecson, that was impossible.

 

"He bribed me." spoke Pecson for the first time, still soaked from the incident. Tadeo sniggered. Juanito had this manner of flaunting wherever he went and having nerve at every prank he thought of, yet Placido was amused that Juanito could still be considered a coward for dragging along accomplices to share in his humiliation.

 

Looking back, Placido Penitente couldn't really pinpoint the exact millisecond in which irritation for Juanito Pelaez had fused itself with fondness. Fondness was not the proper word, per se, but Placido had no other terms in his lexicon to mean an emotion that encapsulated the thoughts of _"I can't stand you, but I also can't stand not being able to stand you while I'm away from the University."_

 

He could admit that he just missed Juanito's antics, be done with it, and have no need to make things hard for himself; but he was Placido Penitente and it would take a pride as high as Mount Vesuvius to do such admitting, let alone _think_ that he had begun _liking_ Juanito Pelaez.

 

Because he _did not_ like Juanito Pelaez. He _hated_ Juanito Pelaez.

 

And for God's sake, it was the nineteenth century. Only the Jesuits could be forgiven for their progressiveness at this day and age. Placido would be a _tulisan_ , first and foremost, before ceasing with his lies and more constructed lies on the topic of wretched emotions.

 

So he didn't like Juanito. Liking someone didn't mean wanting to punch that someone you supposedly like, right?

 

"So what do you say, Penitente," Juanito rambled on, his confidence not once altered. He was smirking. Placido just needed to crack his jaw. He could do it tomorrow. "We're off to see Pepay, then later, the _operetta_. Care to join us?"

 

Placido rolled his eyes. He had more important matters to fuss over, and the _bailarina_ wasn't close to his definition of significance. He didn't understand French (and he wouldn't pretend that he did, unlike his many contemporaries), so the operetta in Manila was out of the question. If only these three knew what would occur that night, then they wouldn't be as enthusiastic and naive.

 

Not uttering his answer, Placido slid the capiz windows shut. Juanito could take his stupidity somewhere else.

 

* * *

 

Simoun's plan had failed, Placido contemplated, as he took his usual route to Intramuros the following morning. His walk was brisk: not a stroll, and surely not the kind reminiscent of a funeral procession - the same way he would walk to the University before he became his changed self. There were no more tear-stricken eyes, no more turbulent mournings to cloud his judgment, no more of any of these; because starting today he'd manifest what little vengeance and spite he could do at the Universidad de Santo Tomas. He'd show those Dominicans... this was now his driving force. Someday he'd prove them all, and who would be laughing then?

 

Placido entered the University five minutes earlier. His expectations weren't let down: several curious eyes darted his direction, seasoned with whispers begging to be heard. He _did_ make his name famous for the other day's stunt, more or less, and he chuckled to himself as he set off towards the building.

 

Juanito was already there, spewing what uproarious elements burst forth his lips, his audience in the hallway equally animated, as though Juanito's liveliness was a contagious disease caught by them.

 

In ordinary days, Placido would ignore him. But those days were long gone.

 

"Oi, Pelaez." he strode to the group. They returned his greeting with gaping mouths. Juanito, meanwhile, was blinking in disbelief.

 

"Penitente... you're... you're..." with how Juanito stumbled for words, Placido truly and uttterly wanted to send his fist flying to the former's face. "You're back!"

 

He could do it later.

 

"Yes, obviously." he raised an eyebrow. "You're not the only one who can talk his way through priests. I did say I make my own decisions without your making a raucous scene in front of my lodging house."

 

If he didn't know any better, Placido would say that right then and there Juanito Pelaez was struck dumb. Good for him.

 

"So what did I miss in Physics?" it was a rhetorical question. Juanito wouldn't have a clue, of course. And Placido already knew. Of course.

 

As Juanito still couldn't murmur a coherent syllable, Placido walked over the threshold and into class (he couldn't afford another _raya_ beside his name). He made a mental reminder to do his bidding and punch Juanito sometime later.

 

Because he did not like Juanito Pelaez. He hated Juanito Pelaez.

 

But little did he know that the planned sock in the jaw would result to an unwarranted confession before the day ends. Little did Placido Penitente know.

**Author's Note:**

> most of the references/spanish terms mentioned (my apologies if some may have caused confusion) come from lacson-locsin's translation of el fili; other than that, they are of my own doing.
> 
> kudos and feedback will make me love you.


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